ROUND 2: Conflicted
by NimbusSeeker70
Summary: Peter Pettigrew knows what he has to do, but that doesn't mean he's happy about it. One take on Peter's thought process before handing the Potters over to Voldemort. Written for Round 2 of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition! One shot.


**A/N: **This story was written for the second round in the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition! For round 2, the captains of each team were able to pick a song, and then someone else picked our lyrics. The song I chose was "Dare You to Move" by Switchfoot, and the lyrics I was given were** "The tension is here, between who you are and who you could be, between how it is and how it should be." **I hope everyone enjoys this story!

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or the lyrics from Dare You to Move. Thanks!**

**Word Count: 1,324**

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Peter Pettigrew didn't know what to do. In his twenty-one years of life, he'd never felt so conflicted.

So lost.

When he'd joined the Dark Lord, he'd know that he was signing up to be a spy. He knew that he would probably need to betray his friends eventually.

But this was pushing it.

Because what he never signed up for was giving the Dark Lord the key to murdering Lily and James Potter, and their newborn son, Harry. That's bloody Trelawney woman just had to make that ridiculous prophecy that baby Harry would "vanquish the Dark Lord." What rubbish it was! He was a baby, for Merlin's sake! How could that little boy possibly have the capabilities to destroy the most powerful dark wizard who ever lived?

And yet, the Dark Lord had made up his mind. He had to kill Harry James Potter to secure his place as the future ruler of the world, over wizards and muggles alike (mind you, with muggles certainly on the bottom of the hypothetical food chain or society).

And so, on the eve of October 30, the night before Halloween, Peter sat with his face buried in his hands and his head buzzing with thoughts that refused to leave him. He knew what he had to do, because if he didn't tell the Dark Lord where the Potters were, he would surely die, but all he could think about were the good memories he had with the two of them.

All he could see was James laughing hysterically on the day they had gotten back their OWLS results and Sirius had gotten a Troll in potions. He saw James helping him up after falling in a mud puddle on the way back from Hogsmeade in third year. He saw Lily in her wedding dress, looking radiant as ever on the day she married James. He saw James in one of his many attempts to get his current wife to look at him during school. And he saw Lily promptly refusing his offers, practically able to hear the laughter flowing from his own mouth, along with Sirius' and Remus', every time she turned him down.

The memories were torturing him, bearing down on his shoulders until he felt a real, physical pain racking his entire body. It was like the cruciatus curse had been cast on his very soul, tearing it apart, ripping it to pieces.

He was about to hand over two of his best friends and their child to the Dark Lord, who would surely kill them by midnight the following day. He would set out the second he got the information.

If only that idiot Snivellus had kept his mouth shut about the prophecy. If only Peter wasn't put in this position, he could've gone on living his life as a normal supporter of the Dark Lord, quietly abiding his time in his master's wake without being an accomplice in the murder of two of his friends.

But Snape hadn't kept his mouth shut. He'd told the Dark Lord of the prophecy in words that flowed out of his mouth easier than water flows downhill, and it had made Peter's life much more difficult.

This wasn't how things were supposed to be. They should be better than this. He should've stayed with Dumbledore's Army. And now that he'd betrayed them, he should've gone back, begging for mercy and forgiveness.

He most definitely should not be contemplating telling the Dark Lord of the whereabouts of one of his former best friends.

It shouldn't be like this.

But it was, so poor Peter found himself contemplating why he'd made the decision to have it be this way in the first place...

Peter Pettigrew had always felt different from the other Marauders. James and Sirius and Remus were all confident, attractive Gryffindors who knew where they belonged. Sirius and James were loud and obnoxious, double trouble that could never be separated. They were the brawn behind the pranking at Hogwarts, and Remus fit right in with them as the majority of the brains.

To this day, Peter didn't know how he'd gotten into a group with those three. He wasn't funny like James and Sirius, and he wasn't brilliant like Remus. He was just Peter. Plain, quiet, mousy Peter Pettigrew who hung out with the cool kids in school. He was an outsider in his own group. He was the one everyone forgot about. When people talked about the Marauders, it was usually "The Marauders and Peter." He was never quite a part of the little group, almost like a cat with a ball of yarn held in front of it. The cat was always so close to getting the ball, but couldn't ever reach it.

That was who Peter Pettigrew had been. Powerless, slow, and pathetic.

So when Lucius Malfoy approached him at the very end of seventh year, offering the small boy a chance to join the ranks of Voldemort, and be a part in leading the world when he took over, he accepted almost without really thinking. He wanted power. He wanted to feel like he mattered.

Most of all, he wanted to be remembered.

Peter was drawn out of his trance by the noise of a car rushing by on the street below his tiny apartment as it splashed through a puddle loudly outside.

He wished more than anything that he could go back in time to the day Lucius had approached him about joining the ranks and slapped himself hard across the face, screaming at his past self to say no, you bloody idiot, because one day, you'll have to assist in the murder of your best friend!

But even if he had a time turner, it would take far too many turns to get back that far, and everyone knew that awful things happened to wizards and witches who meddled with time. He could potentially just end up making things worse.

And then another thought occurred to him. Why hadn't the Dark Lord chosen Longbottom's child, what was his name again? Peter couldn't remember, but if only the Dark Lord had chosen to kill him...

Everything was working against Peter. Everything was just one, terrible, perfect storm to break him into a million little pieces, lying shattered on the ground like a window hit by flying debris in a tornado.

He stared out the window as the rain started to fall outside. Thunder rumbled quietly in the distance.

Everything was so wrong. This whole situation was so messed up. It should be easier than this. He should be better than this. Had being a Gryffindor taught him nothing?

That's just it, Peter realized. He'd never belonged in Gryffindor. The hat had made a mistake when it sorted him into that house, he was sure of it.

Peter may not have known what he had been thinking on the day he joined the Dark Lord's ranks, but he did know something.

Peter Pettigrew knew what he was.

Because despite the fact that he knew that things should be different and he should return to Dumbledore's Army... Despite the fact that he knew he should be a better, stronger person than this...

Despite all of the values being in Gryffindor should have taught him, he knew that all he was was a weak follower who would never amount to anything.

Because if there was one thing Petter Pettigrew was not, it was brave, and in the end, the way things were would always win out over the way things should be.

So Peter grabbed his jacket, threw it over his shoulders, and apparated to Malfoy Manor.

"My Lord," he said, bowing deeply and not making eye contact with the terrifying being in front of him. "The Potters are in Godric's Hollow."


End file.
